What It Takes To Be A Lady
by Angoliel
Summary: Boromir and Faramir have a little sister who wants to be just like them. Her sixteenth birthday is coming soon, and it's time for her to grow up. Will she learn what it takes to be a real lady? How? COMPLETE!
1. It's Time To Grow Up

Summary: Boromir and Faramir have a little sister who wants to be just like them. Her sixteenth birthday is coming soon, and it's time for her to grow up. Will she learn what it takes to be a real lady? How?

Author's Notes: This story was originally _Summer in Dol Amroth._ However, I have been unsatisfied with my work, and rather than going back and replacing chapters and knocking everything out of wack, I've just decided to re post it. Aerwyn has been changed, and some circumstances will be different as well. Bear with me, please. Take note that Silmarien's name is pronounced Sil **MAH** ree _EN_. Her nickname is pronounced **MAH** ree.  
  
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns the world of Middle Earth. I just play in it.   
  
It was late March, and winter was lifting its last finger from holding on. It wasn't too cold, considering Gondor was in the southern regions of Arda. But it was chilly to the inhabitants of Minas Tirith. Children's games were indoors, for the most part.  
  
Boromir strode through the streets of the second circle of the city, on his way back to the citadel. Having just got off duty, he looked forward to a warm bath and an evening with his family. The twenty- five-year-old Captain heir of Gondor smiled at the thought of his family. Faramir would be home soon, and they would meet each other in the large sitting room that belonged to the Steward's family where the ranger would embrace him and then immediately bury his nose in a book. Then Denethor would make his entrance, and complain about all the diplomats he had to meet and the paperwork he had to sign. Then, the troublemaker...Silmarien, the youngest member of the family.  
  
Ah, how Boromir smiled at the thought of his baby sister. Named after an ancient Numenorian queen, she was fifteen years old. Boromir loved her greatly and tolerated her tomboyish behavior because she looked up to him so much. Often, she would ask if she could accompany him to the walls. He always said no, but heard her vow that she would one day be a warrior just like her brother. Her nature was blunt, her personality fiery and playful.  
  
Silmarien would burst in as if she had not seen them in years and embrace them all so very heartily. Then she would recount to them any pranks that she had played that day. Father would pretend to be angry, but his laughing eyes always gave him away. Yet Silmarien always waited until she was only with Faramir and him until she told the especially good pranks. The elder son of the Steward always treasured her trust, and many inside jokes were developed between the three of them.  
  
Boromir finally reached his bed chambers and drank some wine while his manservant helped him out of his armor. He was then left alone to rest and bathe before the evening meal. Taking his half-finished wine to the bath with him, Boromir stepped into the soothingly warm water, rested his head on the rim of the tub and draped his arms over the side. Closing his eyes, the Captain heir sighed, realizing once again how good his life was.  
  
A series of loud crashes, thuds, cries and scufflings caused his eyes to fly open. Only one name resounded through the stone walls of the palace. "_Silmarien_!!" A delighted peal of laughter followed.  
  
Boromir laughed loudly, half hoping his voice would be heard by his little sister. "Ah, my little raven. Who is your victim today?" he said, looking at the goblet of wine. The tales in the sitting room tonight were sure to be absolutely tickling.

-----  
  
Not everyone was pleased by Silmarien's victories. Her cousin Barahir certainly wasn't. Especially since he had been the butt of the prank she had just played. Imrahil threw open the door of the council room to find his oldest son on the floor underneath a statue. Denethor was close behind him, trying to hide his merriment behind a scowl. The Prince of Dol Amroth gave his niece a glare that would make an orc slink away.  
  
Mari never showed any fear. She was too busy laughing and clutching her sides. Her hair, the color of a night without neither moon nor stars, was swept off her neck and held by combs, but some strands had escaped. Her five foot two inch frame shook with giggling, her fair skin becoming quite rosy. Her adolescent eyes were grey, and danced with laughter now.  
  
"Silmarien, what has happened?" Imrahil asked through grit teeth, trying not to scream at his beloved niece.  
  
She took several breaths before she answered. "Barahir ran into a statue and knocked it over!"  
  
"Daughter, help your cousin up," Denethor commanded, to keep his smile from insulting his kinsman. The Steward always made sure he pulled long faces at his child's behavior publicly, but behind closed doors, he encouraged her by asking that she retell the tale.  
  
Prince Imrahil lifted the statue from trapping his son, and set it back in its original position while Silmarien dusted him off. Barahir scowled mightily and shook her away. "I'm alright," he growled, turning on his heel and stomping off. Silmarien ran the opposite way in search of the hiding friends who had helped her in her prank.  
  
"A word with you, kinsman," Imrahil turned his glare to Denethor, taking his arm to lead him back into the council room. Denethor poured a glass of wine, offering it to the other, who had come just that afternoon. The lord refused it, sitting at the table.  
  
"We must speak of dear niece's behavior. Every year I visit you, Steward, and every year your daughter abuses my son. Her etiquette is ghastly; her mind is not fixed on propriety. You have failed to bring her up as a woman, friend." Denethor did not answer. "Finduilas would be horrified."  
  
At this, the Ruling Steward closed his eyes, lowering his head. Imarhil knew he had stricken a weakness and immediately became remorseful. "Must you bring my wife into this?" he asked. His heart still hurt over his beloved's death, even now.  
  
The tall man calmly backed off and switched tactics. "Would you have your daughter then grow up to be like one of the Rohirrim? So blunt, unrefined and completely distasteful? How will you have her marry? As it is, she is fit for one of the Wildmen!"  
  
"What would you have me do, Imrahil? I have not the heart to punish my daughter's lively spirit, nor do I have the will."  
  
"Let her come to Dol Amroth. Lothiriel will be a better influence, for she is gentler of heart. Come, give me the summer, and she will return to you better manageable."  
  
The Steward wondered how his kinsman would desire her to behave. _Calm, quiet and peaceful, no doubt,_ he thought, _and much too grown up for her good. But he is right. I have neglected her upbringing._  
  
Nodding, Denethor spoke. "You're right, Lord Imrahil. My daughter has not had the proper upbringing she should have. If it pleases you, I will send her to Dol Amroth. Hopefully she will return the wiser for it. She needs to grow up."  
  
Glad that his friend had finally seen reason, Imrahil rose and extended his hand. They shook on it, agreeing that Silmarien shall arrive in the city of her mother near the end of May and spend an entire three months there.

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What do you guys think? I know it sounds the same as _Summer in Dol Amroth_, but give me time! I'll make it better, I promise!_  
_


	2. Proposal of a Summer Vacation

**Chapter Summary: **Silmarien learns of her father's decision to send her to Dol Amroth for the summer.  
  
_Author's Notes: _As I said, some elements will be different. I hope very much that you shall enjoy the phoenix of _Summer in Dol Amroth!_ If you have a beef with anything, email me at eruanne lissamail dot com.  
  
Faramir lay back on the settee sideways, one foot resting on the cushions, the other propped on the hearth; the Steward's youngest son read a book while his older brother stared into the fire.  
  
"You look intolerably lazy, Faramir," Boromir said, stirring out of his reverie with a smile.  
  
Rubbing his eyes, Faramir chuckled. "You don't appear to be very energetic either, Boromir. Let's not have the pot call the kettle black. We're both tired, and I won't be moving for anyone."  
  
Almost on cue, Denethor came in and Faramir righted himself immediately. Boromir chuckled, glancing sideways at his brother. The twenty year old middle child was almost constantly forced to perform for his father's affections, and Boromir pitied him for it. Yet his denial of "keeping an image" garnered even more sympathy.  
  
Denethor sat heavily into a cushioned armchair and sighed after greeting his sons. Rubbing his eyes, he suddenly announced the presence of their kinsman and his family: Prince Imrahil, and his children Barahir and Lothiriel.  
  
"Is that cause for annoyance, Father?" Boromir asked, amused at his father's manner.  
  
"It is cause enough when Barahir and Silmarien are even in the same city. Imrahil has asked me to send her to Dol Amroth this summer. I have made the decision to comply with his request," the Steward sighed. Looking at Boromir he suddenly asked, "Do you think I have neglected your sister?"  
  
Boromir thought awhile on it, and gave a guarded answer. "You both have proud spirits, Father. Even if you had commanded her to learn womanly graces, I think it would have been in her heart to chase after Faramir and I with a sword made of willow branch. It is part of her nature."  
  
"But do you think your mother would have made her nature different? Perhaps a little quieter?" Denethor asked.  
  
His question was not answered, for in the stone halls outside the Steward's family sitting room echoed the sound of sandaled feet hurrying across the stone. A mere few seconds later, the door opened and in came the dark haired girl. Seeing her brother on the settee, she squealed with delight.  
  
"Faramir, you're back!" Silmarien cried, embracing heartily her laughing sibling. The ranger Captain had been in Ithilien for the past week and had just returned in time to bathe and dress for the evening meal. Silmarien made a great fuss over his return and kissed him on the cheek loudly before turning to Boromir. Her oldest brother got nearly the same attention and an equally loud kiss before she sat between them on the settee.  
  
"Oh, I played the most brilliant trick today!" she said playing with her hair, which was still damp from her recent bath.  
  
"I heard the clatter it made, Raven. Who was it this time?" Boromir smiled.  
  
"It simply had to be Barahir. Do you know he tried to kiss me today?" Silmarien shuddered at the memory.  
  
"Not on the lips?" Faramir chimed in, half-teasing his sister. He was completely ready for the full tale.  
  
"Oh, does it matter? If he gets near enough for me to smell his breath, it's too close," she replied. "But I must tell you what I did. Uncle had gone into the council room with Father and Barahir decided to see how far he could get, I suppose. I was racing up and down the hall with Val and Beleg. Barahir tripped Val on purpose I think, just to pick a fight to make them leave. Beleg saw it, and he and Val pretended to be hardened soldiers, and condescend to him." Here, Silmarien was lost to a fit of giggling. "While they were making him back away, I circled around behind Barahir and said, 'Now now, Barahir. Don't you know you shouldn't interrupt a race?'  
  
Barahir turned around and acted as if I were some high queen or something and put his arms around my waist. Then he said, 'Save me lady, from these churlish knaves!' and tried to kiss me. I wasn't about to let that happen, and so I pushed him into Beleg. Val was knocked off his feet, and the boys started wrestling. They were so zealous about it, they knocked a statue over onto Barahir. Oh, it was so funny, Boromir! You should have seen his face when it happened!"  
  
Her brothers chuckled good-natured. They shared their sister's love for pranks. It always seemed Barahir was the prime target.  
  
"Silmarien, do you dislike Barahir, that you trouble him so?" Boromir asked suddenly after he had thought on it a little.  
  
"Nay, brother. He is merely the easiest to upset. I do get a delight over the scowls he makes," she smiled innocently. It seemed her childishness drove many of her decisions.  
  
Faramir paused in thought. "Does he know this? How long until his patience snaps, sister? Would you have bitterness between you and your cousin just because you delight in tormenting him?"  
  
Silmarien pursed her lips. "No, I don't suppose he knows I merely jest with him," she mused, having been given something truly serious to think about. "You don't suppose he'll hate me for what I've done? I didn't really intend to be so mean."  
  
Denethor secretly approved of her thoughtfulness of her recent actions, but the consequences of her pranks and of his indulgence of them would have to be enforced. Denethor saw now that she truly needed discipline; that he had been extremely lax was plain.  
  
"Silmarien, your uncle has been disappointed in your behavior. He thinks you have grown up not knowing the ways of women, and I happen to agree with him," he said, letting the tone of his voice make plain his thoughts.  
  
Silmarien's head lowered, and she became increasingly ashamed. Her heart was good, but she had not grown up yet. "I am truly sorry for what I have done, Father. Please forgive me," she whispered. She swallowed hard. Her father had never reacted this way to her pranks before. Always, he had asked her to tell him what had happened, and she always told him the truth. His punishments were always easy to pay, and Silmarien thought no more of it. What would happen now? If the strict and refined Uncle Imrahil was as displeased as her heart feared, the price of punishment would be steep.  
  
"It is my decision to send you to Dol Amroth at the end of May," Denethor continued. "You will stay the summer there, and you will set your mind to learning to behave in a manner worthy of your position."  
  
Silmarien looked up. All the color drained from her fair face. "So far from home, Father? Why not here?"  
  
"There are too many distractions, it seems," the Steward replied. "Do not fear, Silmarien. You won't stay there forever. But you must learn that you cannot be as unrestrained as you have been. Wouldn't you like to learn how your mother lived? Do you not wish to visit Lothiriel?"  
  
Silmarien's fear ebbed away. "I would like that, Father," she nodded slowly, calming herself. Looking at her brothers and back at her father she added, "But...are you angry with me?"  
  
Faramir put his arm around her waist and kissed her temple. Boromir took her hand and squeezed it gently. "We are not, sister. But Father is right. It is time for you to become a lady," Faramir whispered.  
  
Denethor opened his arms and Silmarien went to him, becoming enveloped by his long dark robes. He kissed her hair. "It will all turn out for the better, my Mari. You will see." Smiling he drew away from her and stood. "Come now. There is a welcoming feast to attend, in honor of our kin."

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	3. Silmarien's First Dance

**Chapter Summary:** Silmarien asks her cousin forgiveness, and love-ly intentions are whispered about.

**Author's Notes:** WAY different from the original. There is method to the madness, I assure you.

**-------**

Barahir and Lothiriel sat in the feasting hall with their father, waiting for Denethor's children to appear. Barahir sat moodily staring at the table, saying nothing. Lothiriel on the other hand was engaged in conversation with the adults. At only fourteen years of age, the daughter of Imrahil was extremely well mannered and mature. Her five foot four frame was lithe and graceful as a willow tree. Combs in the shape of seagulls bound her dark hair, and her brow was graced with a circlet of silver. Her features were soft and sweet, and her grey eyes gentle. Though not in the full flower of her womanhood, Lothiriel's figure was slender and promising.

Lothiriel's gown was a lovely shade of blue silk. It did not quite hug her form, and left much to the imagination. She fingered the white sash that draped her hips, trailing down to the hem of the garment as she spoke to her uncle. Her belled sleeves kissed her white arms, softly caressing her skin. Yes, Lothiriel of Dol Amroth was a beauty indeed and always behaved in a manner worthy of her title of princess.

Denethor II spoke with his niece and yet mourned in his heart. He delighted in both Silmarien and Lothiriel, but they were as different as night was to day. Both were blessed with the regal bearing and lineage of Dol Amroth. But his own daughter had the blood of Gondor mingled within her veins; in the mind of the Steward, it only increased her nobility. Why could not his kinsman see it? True, the line of Dol Amroth had Firstborn blood in their veins. But that gave them no more nobility than the blood of Numenor was due! Denethor chided himself. Imrahil had done nothing that a loving relative hadn't -- only given her glances that denoted annoyance at her loudness when times called for a ladylike whisper.

Boromir and Faramir entered the hall together, greeting the men under their commands who were invited. Lothiriel smiled upon her cousins when they came to her, but she looked about for the youngest of them.

"Where is Silmarien, my lords?" she asked, becoming concerned for the welfare of their sister. The sons of Gondor gave each other side-glances, something Lothiriel's eyes did not miss. Some may call her sweet and quiet, but few knew of her attentiveness to details.

"She will be along shortly, I think," Faramir replied.

No sooner than he closed his mouth, did his sister appear at the door. The daughter of Imrahil brightened considerably at the sight of her cousin, and went to greet her. The two girls embraced, and Silmarien took the opportunity to whisper in her cousin's ear.

"I shall be coming to Dol Amroth in the summer, cousin! Father is sending me near the end of May," she giggled slightly.

Lothiriel giggled as well. "I wonder what mischief you shall make, dear Silmarien!"

The daughter of Denethor caught sight of Barahir, who had been watching her since she had entered the feasting hall. Drawing away from Lothiriel, Silmarien meekly went to her cousin and curtsied in a practiced manner. To the surprise and delight of her brothers and father, and the great astonishment of her uncle, Silmarien apologized to him.

"Forgive me for my childish behavior this afternoon, Barahir. I had not meant for your pride to have been wounded by my prank. I shall endeavor in the future to be more ladylike," she said, returning Barahir's gaze.

Immediately, Barahir's admiration for his younger cousin rose greatly, and his esteem for her began to flower. He had loved her shyly, even with the young age she had, and hoped one day to speak with his father about courting his favorite among all his cousins. He smiled and inclined his head in a lordly manner.

"I accept your apology, lady, and freely give my forgiveness that you ask for," Barahir replied.

Denethor and Imrahil saw the exchange and traded knowing glances. Denethor knew his nephew's mind. It was written upon his face for the world to see. The Steward wondered if sending his daughter to the city of the man who would endeavor to win her heart at such a young age was the best idea.

As the evening progressed, Denethor had more reason to be concerned. After the meal, the tables had been cleared away so that dancing and merriment might ensue. Barahir went to Silmarien and took her hand. Smiling shyly, he asked her to dance with him – right in front of her father.

Silmarien seemed delighted at the idea, however. "May I, Father?" she asked, knowing she needed permission, for she had not yet been introduced to society as a lady.

Had Barahir asked him for his daughter's hand in a dance, Denethor would have flatly refused. He knew his nephew's desire, and the Steward had a wish that Silmarien grew up before putting thoughts of romance into her head. But it had been Silmarien herself who asked. Looking into her sparkling eyes, brightly lit by excitement, how could he possibly refuse? It was the first time anyone had asked her to dance. Denethor sighed.

"Yes, you may, Silmarien," he smiled. He watched the son of his kinsman sweep his daughter away from him to join the festivities and became a little depressed. His daughter was turning sixteen in a mere few months. The reality of what would happen struck him very hard. Young men would come and ask for many dances. Then would come chaperoned walks in the garden...and much too soon after that, _unchaperoned_ walks. Silmarien would grow up and be loved by too many young men for the Steward's liking. Then, he would have to send Boromir to duel them all, and perhaps some of them might be killed. It would all be just a large mess.

Denethor realized exactly what the trouble was. He didn't want Silmarien to grow up. He wanted her to be his little girl forever, whom he could spoil and indulge and embrace as much as he pleased. Watching her whirl about the dance floor with her cousin, he pursed his lips. She was very pretty, and had attracted Barahir's attention. The eighteen year old boy was absolutely besotted. Smiling at the memory of when he fell in love with Finduilas, Denethor chuckled lightly. With Finduilas as her mother, how could he not love Silmarien? It was impossible to deny such beauty.

In his heart Denethor grieved. The time was coming for him to release his daughter's hand, for she was fast becoming a woman.

-----

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	4. Ribbons, Trees and Exposed Ankles

**Chapter Summary: ** Silmarien tries to be a lady, and fails miserably. Faramir offers her comfort.

Shout outs:

Terreis – Wow, you're quoting my story. I'm so honored! I'm glad you liked it. There are a few unexpected twists, but Silmarien's not going to be all "give me what I want when I want it".

Cranberry – If you understand what I'm saying, why should I make myself clearer? If a reader can't understand Tolkien, obviously, they shouldn't be reading fan fiction on his work.

Roisin Dubh – Yes, I like sensible better. I realize that Aerwyn was a bit of a Mary-Sue...ok, she was A LOT like a Mary-Sue. I promise it won't happen again! And there won't be bitterness. At least, not between Barahir and Silmarien.

Electric Fire – Yay! A new reader! I'm so thrilled you like this story. Your reviews are fun to read.

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The day was unusually bright and clear though a little chilly. In the midmorning, Silmarien and Lothiriel walked in the gardens, their cloaks wrapped around them for warmth. The cousins spoke about many things that had happened since they had last seen each other, which had been nigh three years. Silmarien had gotten a little taller; Lothiriel had gotten much prettier and more grown-up.

A sudden gust of wind blew at them and Silmarien shivered, drawing her cloak closer to her form. Lothiriel looked a little more disheveled, clutching at one of her ornate braids. Gasping in dismay, she watched the ribbon that held it float away on the wind.

"Silmarien, catch it!" she cried out, chasing after the blue ribbon. Her Gondorian cousin immediately leapt after it, being the faster runner. The wind had carried it high above their heads, and all they could do was watch it as it became tangled in a tree in the garden.

Scowling up at the renegade ribbon, Silmarien stood beneath the tree. Turning to Lothiriel, she tried to be cheerful. "We are fortunate that the wind did not take it to a lower level of the city," she said.

"Cannot we ask a guard to climb up and get it for us?" her distraught cousin asked, clutching the braid between her long fingers to keep it from unraveling.

"I would think that a guard has better things to do than climb trees for hair ribbons, Lothiriel," Silmarien returned, frowning. Casting glances around the garden, she got an idea.

"Keep watch for me, cousin," she said in a softer tone. "I will climb into the tree and get it for you."

"Oh, Mari, be careful! It is a very tall tree!" Lothiriel begged. Her cousin had told her of the promise she had made to herself to be more ladylike. She was sure Silmarien had every intention of keeping the promise, but this was an especial case. If no one caught her in the tree, and no one was told about it, then no one would be the wiser.

"Give me a hand up, would you?" Silmarien said, having planned how she would get to the ribbon. Quickly, Lothiriel put her hands together and boosted her cousin up to the first branch.

Silmarien was not dressed for such a tom-boyish activity. She wore a long sleeved dress that was hemmed at her feet, and sandals. Even in her present apparel, she shimmied up the tree as quickly as she could. Once, by accident, she had not made a firm step on the bark and nearly slid back down the trunk of the tree, much to the annoyance of herself and the chagrin of her cousin.

Silmarien climbed as high as she dared, and still could not reach the ribbon. Looking back at her cousin, her eyes widened. This was higher than she had ever climbed in a tree. Clutching at a small branch, she stood on her toes to reach the ribbon. Clawing at the fluttering fabric, she finally took hold of it, but at the sacrifice of her balance.

Crying out fearfully, Silmarien wobbled on the branch she was standing on, hoping against hope that she would somehow regain her balance. Lothiriel looked up into the tree, ashen-faced. The daughter of the Steward set her foot wrong and slid off the branch, falling from the great height.

"_Mari!"_ a voice called out, made crisp by the cold air.

Silmarien landed on her side, leaving no damage to her limbs save for soreness in her hip. Groaning in pain, she rubbed her waist as she straightened to sit with the help of Lothiriel. It was in that moment she saw her visitor – Barahir.

"Mari, are you alright?" he asked, alarmed. Then he averted his face, blushing a scarlet red.

Confused at her cousin's behavior, Silmarien looked down and nearly shrieked. The hem of her dress had drawn up in her fall and left her ankles bare, and almost her knees. She too blushed deeply and drew her knees up, covering them with her dress.

"I'm...alright," she stammered, standing quickly. Thrusting Lothiriel's ribbon at her as if it burned, she mumbled something incoherent and ran away as fast as her sore limb would allow.

-----

Faramir lay on the couch in his bed chambers, munching on some sweet cakes the servant had brought to him. His nose was buried in a book, as usual. Having returned yesterday from a scouting mission, he had the next couple of days off before he had to report for duty again, and he intended to take advantage of the peace he was allowed. The ranger captain had ordered he was not to be disturbed unless it was absolutely necessary.

The pounding on his door was quite loud. Groaning, Faramir grumbled about being the Steward's son that everyone rushed to for help and guidance and wisdom. Sighing heavily, he tossed the book away and shoved the rest of the sweet cake in his mouth, swallowing it quickly.

"Faramir!" the person on the other side of the door shouted, distressed. Faramir quickly straightened himself and rushed to the door, recognizing the voice. When he opened the door, he was immediately embraced by his sobbing little sister.

Closing the door, Faramir walked Silmarien's shuddering frame through his outer chambers, into his bed chamber where he sat her down on the couch. He let her cry for a little while, knowing she wouldn't be able to speak yet. When she quieted a little, he asked her what the trouble was.

Rubbing at her already reddened eyes, Silmarien related what had transpired in the garden only ten minutes ago. When she had finished, she burst into new hysterics and couldn't speak anymore. Faramir held her tightly, kissing her hair, rocking her back and forth.

"Silmarien," he whispered to calm her nerves. "It will be alright, you'll see. Barahir only did the right thing by looking away. If he hadn't, I would be having a discussion with him this very moment."

This won him a half-hearted laugh from her, but it did not lighten her mood. Smoothing her hair away from her tear stained face, Faramir continued to rock her back and forth. "You should have asked for help with the ribbon, but I shall not chide you. You're punishing yourself."

After a time. Faramir let Silmarien lay upon his bed and drew the blankets about her. Her tears had been shed to the point of her weariness. As he tucked her in, she looked up at him and whispered mournfully.

"Mother was such a refined lady. I'll never be like her."

Faramir looked down sternly at his sister and sat beside her. "Never speak that again, Mari," he said, his grey eyes hardening. "Mother was taught for many years how to be so graceful. She had to learn how to speak so elegantly, and how to have grace for others. Mother was a wonderful woman, Mari. But don't ever think that you can't be like her."

"But how am I to be like a princess, Faramir? I can't even keep a promise to myself!" Silmarien cried.

"You will learn, just like Mother did," he said with a smile. His encouragement was so gentle, so loving. It was the reason Silmarien told him absolutely everything. There were no secrets between her and her brothers. Faramir took her hand and kissed it, softly closing her eyes with his other hand.

"Rest, Mari," he murmured. "I'll watch over you."

-----

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	5. Princess Boot Camp

**Chapter Summary: ** Silmarien arrives in the City of Swans, and her transformation has just begun...

Shout outs:

Terreis – I hope Mercury Gray told you that Haldir belongs to me... if not, we're going to have a serious problem!

Mercury Gray – Yes, you told me I could do it. For some reason, I didn't believe you. But I'm so glad it has your blessing!

Mariette – Yes, I took Silmarien's name from the Silmarillion. I believe she was the first recorded Numenorian queen in Middle Earth's history. Glad you like it.

Roisin Dubh – Yes, Barahir is more of a gentleman. I couldn't really figure out why I had him be such a jerk before, other than it gave Aerwyn a chance to open a can of whup-ass. But, it's over. On to the new!

Electric Fire – Barahir, perfect for Mari, you say? I could think of a better man for Silmarien...but that's another story...

Justso – And you don't even have the guts to leave me your email, so I can bother you about how you got her age? Because **I** sure couldn't figure her age!

Bubblebubblegumgum – You are so sad and pathetic, you little hypocrite. I laugh at your spelling, I laugh at the fact that you have written a story with non-canon characters in it. I laugh at the fact that you think you can change anything I do with an insulting and degrading review. You make me laugh. Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time.

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Silmarien looked about her, taking in her new apartments. It had been a long journey to Dol Amroth, and she had just arrived, having been escorted by her brother Boromir. The servant who she supposed had been ordered to care for her during her stay drew back the filmy curtain that closed off the room from the balcony during the summer.

"I do believe you'll like it here, madam," the elderly woman was saying as Silmarien went to stand on the balcony. "This was Princess Finduilas' room, when she was young."

Silmarien turned to the servant - whose name was Riona - suddenly amazed. "You knew Lady Finduilas?" she whispered in awe.

The servant vigorously nodded. Before Silmarien could attack the poor woman with questions, Boromir strode into the chambers to bid her farewell. Silmarien immediately rushed toward him and threw herself into his arms, embracing him tightly as if it would keep him there forever.

"I shall miss you greatly, Boromir," she said, her voice muffling into his broad chest. She could feel the chuckle rumbling in his breast as he held her close.

"Fear not, Silmarien. I won't let you stay here forever. You're much too fun to go without for more than a single summer," he murmured into her hair with a smile. "I have brought a gift with me from Gondor, so that you would not be lonely."

Whistling twice, Boromir pulled away from his little sister in time for her to receive a bouncing mass of fur into her arms. It yelped in clipped barks that were high pitched and playful as it reached its tawny paws up to her waist in greeting.

"Sit!" Boromir commanded authoritatively. Instantly, the dog obeyed, its sparkling brown eyes looking at Boromir for more directions.

"Oh, Boromir, he's so handsome!" Silmarien cried, thrilled at her new pet. It seemed very young, and quite ready to please through obedience. The pup's scruffy fur was a mix of browns, both light and dark, and varying shades of black. With long, gangly legs and paws he would need to grow into, he looked bumbling and awkward, but to Silmarien, he was the most beautiful thing she had ever been given yet.

"He's not a year old yet, and no one's named him. What say you to that, lady sister?" Boromir smiled, the corners of his merry eyes crinkling as he laughed at her glee.

"What say I? I say 'where did he come from?'" Mari asked, holding her hand out for the cur to sniff, and get used to her scent.

"One of Faramir's men breeds hunting dogs. This was the youngest of his hounds, and they didn't need him as much in Ithilien. Faramir wanted me to give him to you. From both of us, Mari, an early happy birthday."

Silmarien laughed delightedly. Her brothers loved her very much, that they would conspire together to give her a gift. And so early, too! Her birthday wasn't until September!

"I shall name you Ranger," she whispered to the animal, who was busily bathing her hand in wet kisses, "for you are dark, and have long shanks!"

The dog barked and wagged his tail at his new name, batting her hand playfully with his paw. Boromir threw his head back and laughed. "What a choice in names, sister! I shall have to tell Faramir of it. He will laugh," he smirked.

"Let him laugh, for he should know that I would miss him as well!" she cried out. "I name him after my brother also, for I think he shall be a good companion – loveable and protective."

"A wise choice you made, then. And a choice that I must leave you with," Boromir said, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Father shall send either Faramir or I to fetch you in a few months. I hope you shall have surprises for us by then."

Seeing her brother's roguish wink, Silmarien drew up to her full height. "I _will _be a lady," she vowed, "even if it kills me."

"Let us hope it does not come to that."

-----

Over the next few days, Silmarien was introduced to the finer manners her cousins had been taught. Imrahil had instructed his niece's given servant, Riona, to teach Silmarien the art of being a lady. Lothiriel was kind and took lessons with her cousin, though she knew them by heart already.

The third day she had made Dol Amroth her home, Silmarien was taught how to walk tall and straight by balancing a book upon her head. Determined to accomplish her task, the daughter of Denethor set her mind to it and achieved her goal quickly. The next day, a new task was set before her.

"A fashion of the Swan City, is it?" Silmarien asked her cousin for the third time as she glared suspiciously at the dress. There were too many laces on it for her liking, and the cut looked especially form fitting in places she did not admire.

Lothiriel remembered the time she was laced up in her first corset. It wasn't very difficult, considering her figure was slender, and she fit into it without much ado. Her cousin however, had been subject to fattening foods in Gondor, and was encouraged to eat until her hunger was quite satiated. To put it delicately, Silmarien was a bit plumper than Lothiriel.

Putting on the dress was a bit of a task. Lothiriel tried to help by telling her cousin what she did everyday to put it on.

"Try sucking in your breath, Mari...good! Now hold it while Riona laces you up," the princess encouraged.

"Is this meant to kill me?!" Silmarien gasped as the fabric became tighter. Riona finally tied the strings and stepped away. "Can I breathe now?"

Blowing out her breath, Silmarien winced. "I hope I don't rip a seam," she muttered. Ranger had been watching with perked ears and a tilted head, curious as to why his lady was acting so strangely.

Over the course of the next weeks, Silmarien ate less, trying to lose weight so she could actually fit into the dresses her uncle had ordered to be made for her. Mari was determined to become a lady – she had to live up to her mother's legacy and prove to everyone that she could be as queenly as Finduilas the Fair.

-----

What do you guys think? Will the "weight-loss program" be a problem for Silmarien? Review!


	6. Of Elves and Corsairs

**Chapter Summary: **A few friends of Imrahil's come to visit and warn him of a possible threat. One of his friends meets Silmarien...

Shout outs:

Terreis – Haldir has no need to fear me...indeed, I would be willing to consider any arrangement you may come up with, but know that they are subject to...shall we say, **re**arrangement?

Haldir: I am still wary of you two...it is known that Angoliel and Terreis are the wreakers of havoc among Elvenkind!

Angoliel: But oh, what delight you have when we your people!

Mercury Gray – I am so happy that I could give you joy, little sister. I have an idea...I'll show you bits and pieces of my work, and I'll let you critique those, and give me ideas...but much of it will be a surprise for you. What say you?

Roisin Dubh – No no...Silmarien won't turn out that way. She's going to fight to keep herself fitting in gowns that are made in the fashions of Dol Amroth, but I'm pretty sure that when she gets back to Minas Tirith, she'll gain the pounds again. She likes the food in Gondor too much.

And thank you for your insight on the dog. I was told that a cur was a shaggy-looking dog, and when I looked it up, there were negative connotations. I will be mindful of it in the future.

Electric Fire – I have a renaissance costume that has a lace-up bodice. It's basically a corset. Very tight, but it looks fantastic. Don't worry about Silmarien. She'll lose weight, and it won't kill her, I promise. It will be funny, but she'll lose the weight.

Tough Cookie – So glad you're enjoying my work. I had decided not to go with the AU label. Anyone whose read the books (and you **should** read the books before you actually venture into fan fiction of it) would know that Boromir and Faramir never really had a little sister.

Justso – I used the appendixes of Lord of the Rings, and it said absolutely nothing about her age, so that's what I'm going by. I'm not using the internet at all for my research. The internet shouldn't be the main source of your research. And I don't think you should be giving lessons on how to use it to people who are in college and who are procrastinators...

**Author's Notes:** The song Mari sings in this chapter is a 19th century Shaker hymn. Public domain!

* * *

The morning was quiet and fresh kissed by the dew as the sun rose. The wildlife of the land cautiously stirred from their sleep, awakening slowly. Birds softly sang their wishes of "Good morning!" to each other, casting the notes to three hooded riders who traversed the land.

"Tiro! Dol Amroth!" one of the riders said, having crested a small hill.

"Ai, na vedui," another murmured, joining the first rider. "It has been a long journey, brother."

"It hasn't been helped by his presence," the first rider lowered his voice so that the third rider could not hear the exchange. "Why Father sent him along is beyond my comprehension."

"To keep you in line of course, Elrohir," the third rider smiled. Elrohir glared mightily at his companion. "We don't need a chaperone, Glorfindel," he muttered.

"I was not born with pointed ears for nothing, my lord," Glorfindel returned, unruffled by the glares he was receiving from the sons of Elrond. "Your father graciously allowed me time away from Rivendell. It was my desire to visit the southern lands of Arda as well as it was yours."

Rolling his eyes, Elladan softly whispered to his horse and the three continued to ride toward the City of Swans, with no halter, saddle, or gear, as was the way of Elven riding.

In the dining hall of the Prince of Dol Amroth, his family congregated for the morning meal. As Silmarien reached for dishes to fill her plate, Barahir slipped in some tasty morsels, until he was caught. His cousin slapped his hand away and spoke to him in an irritated hiss.

"I can fill my own plate," she whispered.

"But Mari, you've grown so thin," he teased. He had been amazed by his cousin's tranformation and delighted that she learned so quickly. But being of the opposite sex, he couldn't help but tease even the girl he loved. His wry grin disappeared when she glared at him.

It had taken Silmarien almost a month to be able to comfortably fit into the gowns she had been given. The fact that her cousin was trying to fatten her up again did not please her in the slightest.

Later that day, Lothiriel walked through the corridors on her way back to the gardens, having fetched a book to read. It was then she saw her old friend, Lord Glorfindel.

"My lord!" she cried out happily, her fair face lighting up.

"Mae govannen, hiril nin," Glorfindel smiled, kissing the young princess' hand, bowing in respect after the manner of his people.

"Lord Glorfindel, it has been a long time since last I saw you. Tell me of the north, the fair havens of your people!" Lothiriel asked, excited to speak to the elf lord again.

Glorfindel couldn't help but smile at his young friend. "What is it you desire to know, my lady?"

Lothiriel continued on her way to the gardens, this time on the tall elf's arm. "Tell me of the Elven cities...are they like the stone halls of Dol Amroth, or Minas Tirith?"

"Nay Lady Lothiriel, they are not like Dol Amroth at all. The Elves desire to live beneath the trees, not in place of them. The architects of my people design homes and cities to be built around the living wood, so that every room is open and airy. From nearly every window, one can reach the very gardens of one's home."

"And the minstrels," Lothiriel asked excitedly. "Are Elven minstrels like ours in Dol Amroth?"

Here, Glorfindel smiled. This was the princess he had always remembered – lively, lovely, and full of questions. She had never been to Rivendell or any other elvish city and hoped one day to visit Imladris. Glorfindel had promised to escort her back to his city when she was old enough for her father to allow it.

"The minstrels of my people have fair voices indeed. But I have heard the songs of Men also. They have honor and talent in their own right."

At that moment, the strain of a song was heard at the other end of the garden, accompanied by the plucking of lyre strings. Glorfindel paused in his stride, tilting his head.

"I have not heard that voice sing before," he mused. Lothiriel smiled.

"That would be my cousin Silmarien, from Minas Tirith. Come, she is practicing!"

The lord of the House of the Golden Flower followed the princess and soon saw her cousin, sitting on a bench beneath a tree. A book lay beside her, propped open by a small stone as she sang the poetry. Silmarien's deft fingers strummed the lyre with practiced ease, but she was obviously just starting to practice singing as well as playing. Her voice faltered and hesitated more than once. Her dark eyebrows knit together as she fought to gain mastery over the minstrel's craft.

Seemingly determined to learn to sing and play, Silmarien began her song again, much to the delight and amusement of the visiting elf lord.

_My life goes on in endless song_

_Above earth's lamentation_

_I hear the real, though far off hymn_

_That hails a new creation_

_Through all the tumult and the strife_

_I hear its music ringing_

_It sounds an echo in my soul._

_How can I keep from singing?_

_While though the tempest loudly rolls_

_I hear the truth, it liveth!_

_And though the darkness round me close,_

_Songs in the night, it giveth._

_No storm can shake my inmost calm_

_While to that rock I'm clinging._

_Since love is lord of heaven and earth,_

_How can I keep from singing?_

_When tyrants tremble in their fear_

_And hear their death knell ringing_

_When friends rejoice both far and near,_

_How can I keep from singing?_

_In prison cell and dungeon vile,_

_Our thoughts to them are winging._

_When friends by shame are undefiled,_

_How can I keep from singing?_

Glorfindel applauded the efforts of the young woman, smiling. "You are well on your way to becoming a proficient," he complimented. "Continue to practice, and you will sing and play very well."

Silmarien's gaze finally fell upon him, as he had been very quiet during her song. Glorfindel was sure he had never seen anyone's eyes become as wide as hers did in that moment. The Daughter of Men stood, setting aside the instrument.

"You are an elf," she whispered reverently. "I have never seen an elf before!"

Glorfindel smiled. It had been some time since he had walked among the Followers and still longer since he had met anyone who had never seen any of his kindred.

"How then, do you know that I am Elvish?" he asked, his normally serious nature cracking under the slight tease.

"Do not elves have pointed ears?" Mari asked, still in awe of this tall, noble being. Glorfindel nodded solemnly, smiling.

"You are quite right. But I forget my manners, good lady. I am Glorfindel of Imladris," he said, bowing.

Silmarien frantically looked at her cousin, who stood behind him. Lothiriel mouthed the word "Rivendell," and the lady of Gondor finally understood.

"Lord Glorfindel of Imladris, I greet you. I am Silmarien, daughter of Denethor, Steward of Gondor," she courtsied.

The elf lord from the forgotten city of Gondolin gallantly took her hand and kissed it. Silmarien was blushing too fiercely to notice the keen interest in his eyes, or the soft smile on his lips. The two would not meet again for many long years.

* * *

"My lord," Elladan bowed, smiling at Imrahil after he had been announced to his host.

"Ah, the Twins of Terror," Imrahil laughed, getting up from his throne to greet his friends, the sons of Elrond. The title the two had won came from their fierce battle lust and the valor of their warrior hearts.

"Lord Imrahil, we greet you with joy, and yet our tidings bode ill news," Elrohir said sedately.

Imrahil's smile lessened somewhat. "Do orcs come down from their northern mountains, that you are so grim, sons of my friend?"

"The danger is much nearer to you, my lord," Elladan said. "We came to give you the news that the Corsairs are becoming restless. On our journey hither, we saw a ship traveling westward. It is my guess that they are in search of gold."

"Fear not for us, my friends. Now that we know that the pirates are prowling, we shall be more wary in our watch!" Imrahil said, clapping the twins' shoulders.

"Tolo, mado go nin!"

* * *

Elvish Translations –

Sindarin

Tiro! – Look!

Ai, na vedui! – Ah, at last!

Mae govannen, hiril nin – well met, my lady

Tolo, mado go nin! – Come, dine with me!

Review! Don't make me bring out Freddie!


	7. I am Worth Much Less

**Chapter Summary:** Silmarien and Lothiriel are captured by Corsairs. Silmarien formulates a dangerous plan. Will she be able to pull it off?

Shout outs:

Terreis –I laugh. You can have Elrohir, and keep him for all I care. I rather enjoy blonde elves...And thank you for sticking up for me, though I think my temper doesn't need anyone to help it. I hope you like this chapter!

Mercury Gray – You'll get him back depending on if my audience wants a sequel (you guys...DO want a sequel, right?)

Roisin Dubh – Ah yes...the Elf Lord. Wouldn't you like to know...?

Electric Fire – Poor Glorfindel! He gets cut from the movie, and Arwen steals his horse. The poor elf needs some time to shine. Chapter six held a clue for the theme of this story's sequel...that is, if my reviewers _want_ a sequel...

Mariette – Freddie is my pet balrog. I threaten to sic him on people who read my story and yet are a little lazy when it comes to feedback.

You want tomboy? You got it, but at the sacrifice of Silmarien's safety. Ranger will be a key character in the next few chapters.

Justso – You must be very young, that you are so condescending. Either that or you are so old that you think you know everything. I refuse to make comments on any future reviews you make.

-----

It was late at night a few weeks after the Elves had departed when it happened. Silmarien lay in bed, her eyebrows knit together and a pained expression on her fair face. Throwing the blankets back, she ran to her wardrobe, unable to bear it any longer. She was just so hungry! She had not eaten her fill during the evening meal, nor had she been satiated at all for a long time. Mari was breaking her fast from rich, deliciously filling foods.

Dressing quickly in a gown which had no laces she needed to fiddle with and putting on some day-slippers, Silmarien braided her hair in one long rope to keep it out of her way, but didn't bother with a ribbon. She was in too much of a hurry to get to the kitchens without being caught. Lighting a candle, she took its stand and went on her way.

Opening her door, Mari peeked out, looking left and right. Seeing no one, she quickly swept out of her chambers and ran down the corridors. At one point, she nearly ran head first into two guards. Before they could see her, she jumped back, peeking around the corner. They were too close to the passageway she had to take for her comfort.

"Drat!" she whispered under her breath. Then, she felt a curious snuffling at the hem of her gown. Ranger had been following her and now seemed to ask why she was awake at such a late hour. He began to yip – much too loud to be hidden.

"Shush, Ranger!" Silmarien hissed desperately, trying to quiet the long-legged pup. He danced out of her reach and ran down the hall, past the guards, much to her great anxiety. Immediately after Ranger had gotten their attention he began to show off with antics that would make him fit to be Imrahil's jester. To Silmarien's great delight, it got their attention away from the passageway and she was able to sneak past them without a sound.

The famished lady of Gondor finally found herself in the kitchens and quickly found a loaf of bread and a jar of strawberry jam. Cutting the bread, she spread the jam on it and stuffed into her mouth, sighing with satisfaction. Finally, she could fill her stomach without getting sick. And no one would know...well, except for the cooks, who were sure to find everything out of place in the morning.

The sound of footsteps caused Silmarien to panic. Not knowing what else to do, or even who it was, she immediately raised the knife she had used to cut the bread (which was incidentally covered with the sticky jam). But she had no need to fear, for it was her younger cousin who stepped wearily through the halls with her own candle. Lothiriel smiled with a raised eyebrow when she saw her Gondorian kinswoman.

Embarrassed, Silmarien put down the knife, shrugging. "My brother is a ranger," she offered as an excuse. "How did you know I was here?"

"Because I know you, Mari," Lothiriel said. "I've seen you stare at your empty platter. I've seen the longing in your eyes, for want of it to be filled again. I've seen the yearning glances you cast whenever a sweet dish is passed around. Did you think me a simpleton, that I do not know what you have gone through just to wear the fashions of my city?"

Silmarien looked away from her cousin's keen eyes and deceptively innocent face. "I want to go home," she murmured. "They let me eat what I want in Gondor, and care not that I am fat and lazy."

Lothiriel laughed, cupping Mari's cheek. "You're not fat and lazy, my friend," she smiled. "You just enjoy life. To be happy in everything you do is a rare talent, Mari, even if it is considered unladylike. I've heard Father say that Aunt Finduilas was much the same way. I remember him telling me that he once saw her catching frogs in the stream that runs in the gardens."

Silmarien's lips trembled as she tried to smile, even in her increasing need to cry. "I want so much to be like her, Thir. All Father tells me about her is how graceful and lovely she was!"

Setting down her candle so that she could embrace her despairing relative, Lothiriel became the encourager she always was. "You don't need to be like her. You already are! Yes, you must grow up as Father and Uncle say, but you have such a passion for life! Your spirit takes delight in the morning sunshine, the breezy afternoon, the cool evening. You smile upon things which are truly important – honesty, friendship and love. If a man must see you in silken skirts to admire you, then I pity him, for he has missed the true gems that are yours alone."

After a pause, Lothiriel was unexpectedly roguish. "Unlike the Lord Glorfindel, who seemed to delight in you especially."

At that, Silmarien pulled away and went back to stuffing her mouth with bread and jam. This time, there was a definite blush on her face. Lothiriel did not miss it, and decided to press her luck.

"Ah, you _do_ like him then," she grinned, her eyes merrily laughing at her suddenly shy cousin.

"I admire and esteem him," Silmarien said, making excuse for the way she had spoken about the elf lord since he had departed. The tall, wise and very handsome elf lord who had so graciously kissed her hand in such a noble way.

"Oh, you admire and esteem him?" Lothiriel said, mocking her by taking on the exact same tone Mari had used. It won her an irritated glare which told her that she was treading on dangerous ground.

"Don't make me wrestle with you, Thir. It's not ladylike, and you know I'll win."

The threat (and the glare that came with it) could not be taken seriously. Mari had her mouth absolutely full of bread and was trying not to choke while talking though the food.

After satisfying her hunger, Silmarien snuck back to the royal wing, where Lothiriel's chambers were. The two had agreed to sleep in the same quarters that night, as they were still young and could stay awake to talk about nonsensical subjects.

In whispers that were becoming dangerously loud with their laughter, the girls giggled as they reached Lothiriel's door. The flickering light of the candles in their hands, combined with the torches on the walls masked the shadows that moved toward them until it was too late for escape.

Lothiriel had her hand on the door when she was grabbed from behind. Two hands, one at her waist, the other at her mouth pulled her away from Silmarien. With a sharp cry, Silmarien stepped back, only to be caught up by a pair of arms. Fighting with all her might, Mari caught the hand at her mouth and set her teeth into the flesh. An unrecognizable voice cried out in pain and gave her enough presence of mind to grind her heel into the toe of a dirty boot.

"_Help!_" was the one cry that echoed off the stone walls of the palace.

In response to the scuffle, several guards rushed to aid them. There were eight intruders matched to five palace guards. The girls screamed in terror, struggling against the ropes that were now being bound around their wrists. Silmarien's mouth was the first to be gagged, as she had been crying out the loudest.

Ranger had come out of no where, leaping at one of the kidnappers and knocking him to the floor. Closely following him was Barahir, who had heard the shrieks on the way back to his chambers from a late-night council. Pulling out his dagger he cut at the man who held Lothiriel, immediately becoming locked in a duel. The intruder lost his life for his boldness in attacking the princess.

Silmarien was not so fortunate. The gag had successfully been knotted, and she was now being carried away. She tried to scream, until one of the rogues struck her face hard enough to cause her to pass out.

"_Mari_!" Barahir cried, indignant that his cousin would be so used. Instantly he was pushed back by three other kidnappers. One lunged at him with his sword while another took Lothiriel's bound wrists, pulling her away. They followed their comrades, and left their friend to deal with the young prince of Dol Amroth.

Though Ranger had been bruised a bit in the fray, he was still angrily barking at the intruders who were taking his lady away. More guards appeared and took Barahir's opponent captive. He rushed to a window to see the men mounting horses and riding away, obviously having escaped by way of balcony. He rushed to tell his father the news and sound the alarm.

-----

Imrahil glared at the prisoner angrily, his eyes darkening in disdain. The prisoner was on his knees, his hands bound behind his back, but the glitter in his eyes told him he was not in submission.

"Where have they taken my daughter and her cousin?" Lord Imrahil asked, his tone dangerously low. This was the third time he had asked, and it was quickly becoming tiresome.

"To a safe place," the man sneered. "They will not be harmed. Their value would decrease, and would then become less useful."

Three guards, accompanied by Ranger and two other hounds of Imrahil's house appeared. The Prince's attention became diverted. It had been at least two hours, and the search for clues concerning the girls' whereabouts was coming to a close, he hoped.

"Yes?"

"We have found several deceased guards, and poisoned gate keepers, my lord," one of them said. "And this."

Imrahil took a torn piece of parchment from the man and looked at it, his frown becoming deeper etched into his lordly face. Looking back at his prisoner, he snarled.

"Three thousand pieces of gold?! You think kidnapping my daughter and the child of my kinsman will be rewarded by gold?"

"Drink up me hearties, yo ho!" came the pirate's laugh.

In rage, Barahir drew his dagger again and came forward. Only his father's strong arms held him back.

"Do not kill him yet, my son. Even pirates shall have a trial," Imrahil murmured. "But their end shall be disgraceful."

-----

When Silmarien finally came to, she found herself lying on soft grass, the flickering of torchlight all around. The gag had been removed from her mouth, since she had been unconscious. The events of that night came flooding back and she immediately sat up, frantically searching about her for her cousin. Lothiriel lay beside her, with wide grey eyes filled with fearful tears.

Mari's awakening was not noticed for some time, and she was allowed to hear a conversation of her captors.

"That was almost too easy!" one voice laughed. "Hiding in plain sight. That inn was well situated to our purpose, friend! We were barely disguised, and no one asked our purpose."

"Yes, those stupid elf-fakers didn't see us coming. But now what are we to do? We were sent by the captain to fetch the Princess, and we have two girls. The only one of us who's seen the princess before is the captain, and that was near three years ago. She could be either of the two!"

Mari's lips parted in shock. So they were meant to be ransomed? Or rather...Lothiriel was meant to be ransomed. Her younger cousin whimpered slightly, having heard the exchange as well. The princess drew closer to Silmarien, and the two embraced, drawing comfort from each other. What were they to do?

The pirates saw that they were awake, and drew around them as if to triumph over their captives, who would gain them their booty.

"Feelin' better, darlin'?" one of them sneered at Mari, who had a bruise on her cheekbone. Silmarien frowned.

"I'll not be called by any barbaric term of endearment you could ever think up," she said, her grey eyes glittering.

"Oho!" the men around her jeered. "Still feelin' spunky, eh?"

"Whatever you ask, you will not get it," Lothiriel piped up, her voice shaky. Silmarien put her hand over hers. Their eyes met, and Thir understood her cousin's gaze to mean "be quiet."

"I wouldn't be so cock-sure, missy. We always get what we want!" said the man who seemed to be the leader.

Again, the pirates talked among themselves, casting glances at Lothiriel and Silmarien every once in a while. Lothiriel squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to cry.

"Be brave, Lothiriel. You must do something for me, if you are to be safe," her cousin whispered, drawing the princess into her arms. Lothiriel's frame shook with fear, but she tried to sound brave.

"What is it, Mari?"

"You must pretend to be my maidservant. Their goal is to ransom you, the Princess for Dol Amroth, but they don't know who is who. If they take me back to their captain, I will be worth much less to them, and you will be safe."

Lothiriel's quivering increased. "Oh, Mari..."

"Shush! Lothiriel, I don't know how far we are from the city, but I will do my best to cause them to release you. We must do our best! I'll pretend to be you. Perhaps they will let you go."

"What are you two whispering about?" the leader suddenly sneered, stepping very close to them.

"I comfort my servant," Silmarien said after a stressful silence.

The leader walked away from the two after glaring at them for some time, and Silmarien scrambled to her feet, a hard task considering her hands were still bound.

"Pray sir, what do you intend to do with me?" she asked.

"Sell you back to your father, of course," the man snickered, as if there would be something else they would have in mind.

"You intended then to kidnap only me?"

"If you are Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, then yes. Your name carries much weight, and we desire all of it in gold."

Trying to be as sly as her father when dealing with an ambassador, Silmarien's mind worked quickly. "I am Lothiriel. I would ask the name of my captor."

"Ergot," the leader returned. "I am the first mate of _The_ _Black Dragon._"

"Sir Ergot," Silmarien began, trying to formulate something a true princess would say when bartering for the life of her servant. "You have what you came to Dol Amroth for. You have me. You say that I am worth much to you, but what of my servant? What part does she have to play in your plan?"

Ergot tilted his head at Lothiriel, who was trying to look submissive and frightened – a very easy thing to do.

"She has no part to play. Yet as we do not know what the princess looks like, we took both of you."

"Did you not listen as I announced myself? I am Lothiriel, and I would ask that you release my servant...Mari...to return to the city as best she can."

Ergot squinted at Silmarien, trying to decipher if there was truth in her eyes. "How do I know you are the princess we seek?"

"If you release my servant, I shall come with you quietly. I give you my word," Silmarien said, looking him straight in the eyes. Her reply did not answer his question directly, which was the only reason she could have met his gaze – a trick she had seen ambassadors use when in audience with her father.

Ergot continued to stare her down, seeming to size her up. "Release the servant. If the wolves don't find her, then she may find her way back to the city."

Looking at the true Lothiriel, he leered at her. "Tell your lord that his daughter is well, and will be taken to a safe place. He is to meet us at _The Black Dragon_ with the gold."

-----

Review! That balrog-chow didn't satisfy Freddie today!


	8. The Angry Swan Lords

**Chapter Summary:** Silmarien is at the mercy of the pirate captain...will he discover her true identity?

Shout outs:

Terreis – Hey, I needed him to say something...piratey! And I laugh because I don't need the dark-haired elf. I don't want to keep him. I want the blondie!

Mercury Gray – I'd kill him, but the coward isn't man enough to leave his email. So sorry. I gave you your own balrog, though. The one from the vodka bottle. Have you decided to leave him as a slime beast, or did you let him play with lighters?

Electric Fire – Yes, Mari is very brave. Gondorians are known for willingly risking their lives for the safety of others (i.e. Boromir telling the Council of Elrond what his country has done to keep the other countries relatively safe from Sauron). She's scared, but it's like an instinct for the people of Minas Tirith.

Mariette – Ah, if only writing were that easy. And Freddie thanks you for the Balrog Treats. Where did you get them? I've had to toss an occasional Dark Lord at him as a delicacy. Yes, my friends, Justso is no more...

Lindele - You are now my slave! Now that I've gotten you hooked onto the story, you'll never escape!

-----

Dawn was approaching. The wildlife was still asleep, and yet something was amiss. It seemed the stars shone brighter that very early morning, to light the way for the traveler who was very alone.

Lothiriel ran as fast as she could, stumbling upon her gown and the terrain, which seemed to rise in an attempt to malevolently slow her progress. Her side hurt, her hair was a tangled mess, and her feet were sore. All she could think about was her cousin and the danger she had willingly put herself in to make sure she was safe. Mari, dear Mari! What have you done?

Tears flowed freely from her tired eyes, wetting her dirty face as she fell to the ground, weary and weak. The princess despaired that she would get back home in time to help her cousin at all. Lothiriel wasn't a quick runner, and she knew it. When she was younger, Silmarien would race her all the time, and each race, she would win.

Silmarien was quick with her feet and with her mind. No doubt she had come up with the plan while the pirates were speaking about them. But why had she sent her away? Why had she chosen to be alone with the rogues?

"Mari...I must try..." she murmured to herself, trying to get up only to collapse to the ground yet again. Lothiriel simply didn't have the energy anymore. She couldn't move. Her limbs refused to obey, and sleep overcame her at last.

-----

Imrahil had gathered two dozen of his finest Swan Knights, now on a hunt for his daughter and her cousin. Barahir had insisted on taking Silmarien's pet, Ranger, arguing that the animal knew her scent intimately and would search for her the best.

Dawn was breaking now, and they had not found any trace of the girls. Hoof prints were seen, but the pirates seemed to have directed their horses in such a way as to confuse any followers. Either that, or they knew not how to ride, as Imrahil thought.

Barahir was one of the more active hunters. He rode ahead many times and was always paying heed to the hounds they brought with them, Ranger especially. The scruffy pup whimpered whenever he found anything that even hinted at the scent of his mistress.

Imrahil was proud of his son. He was not a blind man. He knew of his son's devotion to Silmarien, though she was still very young. He approved of his son's earnest dedication to the safety of his sister and their cousin, and knew that one day he would speak to Denethor for Mari's hand.

Ranger yipped and yapped for quite some time, having obviously found something. Barahir immediately spurred his horse into the dog's direction and dismounted.

"Here, Father! Here!" he cried out, having followed his cousin's guard dog behind a clump of foliage.

Imrahil and two other knights joined the young prince of Dol Amroth. The Swan Lord cried out in concern. "Lothiriel!"

The others gathered around as Barahir helped his groggy little sister up, covering her with his cloak.

"Lothiriel, are you well?" Imrahil asked, bringing a flask of water to her. She drank it immediately when she realized what it was. After she had been revived somewhat, she looked about her, a bit disoriented. When Lothiriel saw her father, she instantly threw herself into his arms.

"Father, you must find her! She made them send me away! She told them I was her servant!"

"What? What are you saying, daughter?" Lord Imrahil asked, pulling her head back a little so he could see her face.

Lothiriel articulated to her father and brother what had happened since they had been kidnapped and Silmarien's plan, leaving nothing out. Imrahil's face showed his concern more and more. Barahir was concerned as well, but praised Silmarien's quickness of mind.

"It is no wonder, Father, that she is called the Raven by the people of Minas Tirith. She is cunning and wise, though she has not had to prove it before. She knew that the pirates wouldn't get as much for the ransom, were they to receive one at all. Her first thought was to make Lothiriel safe."

"Lothiriel's safety has been bought with a high price, in my eyes. It troubles me that she willingly gave herself up to the Corsairs. Could she not have made herself Lothiriel's guardian as they stayed together? Why did she have to send Lothiriel away?"

"It is uncertain what they would have done, my lord," a knight spoke respectfully. "Perhaps they would have sent Lady Silmarien away from them, if they discovered who the true princess was, and they would have been separated anyway. Perhaps Lady Silmarien knew this, and prevented the pirates from doing evil to the princess."

"And the evil would then be inflicted upon herself," Imrahil finished, still worried. "If we do not recover your cousin, Barahir, Denethor will have my head upon a silver platter. Come, we must ride...Lothiriel!"

By this time, Lothiriel had nearly fainted again from weariness and hunger. Imrahil had caught her before she fell, and cradled her against him, holding her protectively.

"This will not do," he said, alarmed. "One of us must go back to the City."

"Let me continue the chase, Father," Barahir said. "Take an honor guard with you, back to Dol Amroth. All I ask is that Ranger comes with me, and that I have a few men in case a fight is called for."

Imrahil was pressed to make his decision quickly. He looked at his son and saw the eager light in his eyes – one a true lord should have when chasing his lady's kidnappers. Lord Imrahil nodded, finally.

"Take twenty men with you, and Ranger. I will go back to Dol Amroth and prepare for your return. Should you desire help, send a man back to the City. I will keep watch, Barahir."

-----

Silmarien's nerves were too on edge for her to be sleepy at all. The pirates had ridden a little longer and came to the water's edge, where a boat waited. She was told to sit in it, and was taken out to sea, where the _Black Dragon _was anchored in the Bay of Belfalas.

Several other Corsairs came to leer at the prize their comrades have brought back, gleefully tugging at her messy braid, shoving their finger into her side and pinching her arms. Mari batted them away angrily but wasn't able to do anything other than make them laugh, as she was still tied.

It wasn't until they started fighting among each other as to who would pull her hair the hardest that the captain made his appearance.

"Enough!" he had shouted. "Gentlemen, don't you know there is a princess aboard our vessel?"

Immediately, the men stepped away from Silmarien, allowing their captain to step forward.

"Greetings, princess," he said with a wicked grin, mocking her with a showy bow. He cut her bonds and Silmairen drew herself up to her full height, determined to take on the appearance of a true princess.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"I am Sarka, Captain of the _Black Dragon._"

"So I gather," she retorted. "And do you have any plans other than selling me back to my city?"

Sarka laughed derisively. "If you continue being so bold, I am sure my lads here would have something to say about that, missy."

"I am not afraid of you, or your cowardly crew."

The smile faded from the captain's face. He disliked where this was going. The last time he saw Lothiriel, she was quiet as a mouse and very submissive. How did she become so independent?

Silmarien bit her lip. She was beginning to wonder how well she was doing with her façade. Trapped in the decision to reveal her true identity or to wait for him to find out, Silmarien tried to gauge if Lothiriel had been found yet. Her uncle surely would have given chase immediately.

Silmarien decided to give her cousin more time to run, and kept quiet. She didn't like the way the captian was looking at her.

Sarka was glaring at her, much like Ergot had. It made her uncomfortable. What would happen to her?

----

Review, please!


	9. Clever Raven of Gondor

**Chapter Summary:**

**_Author's Notes:_** Due to the dangerous situation Silmarien finds herself in, the rating will be upped to PG-13. Consider this your warning for violence and mild to moderate sensuality.

Mercury Gray had a hand in helping me with this chapter, as I had been going through some rocky spots and didn't really have any ideas until I talked to her. Thank you, Merc, for all you've done!

Shout outs:

Terreis – Now I know what to send you for Christmas, Terreis! And I'm glad you like my story. I hope you _continue_ to like it!

Mercury Gray – You **do **mean _chimney_, right?

Electric Fire – Mari can take care of herself, up to a certain point. Barahir will make sure to deal with the pirates accordingly.

Mariette – Lothiriel's not really the type of girl to go and kick ass. But her **brother** is! And Ranger is going to get another chance at that damned pirate who bruised him up and took Mari away. Darn tootin'!

Lindele - How will they find her? Read on, my faithful minion...I mean cough

Roisin Dubh - Yes, precious...a test of cunning. The Raven against the Corsair...I wonder who will win? And yes, I take offense easily. I had no qualms sending Justso to Freddie. Freddie said he actually tasted like burnt French fries...hmmm...

Imp2 – Yay! My good old friend from the CoE days. Yes, I have improved, because I've practiced! So glad you enjoy it!

Shin-chan - ...what are you _doing_ to me?!

-----

Sarka stood at the stern of the ship, simply looking at the open sea. Looking, but not seeing. The sun shone in the midmorning, dancing on the rippling waves, and Sarka was not dazzled by the sight of it as he usually was. His mind was on his prisoner, who was in repose in his cabin.

She claimed to be Lothiriel. After her small burst of boldness, she had reverted back to being the submissive girl he had remembered. But, there was something different. Sarka mused on what it could be. Was it the way she walked? The way she held herself? Could be. Or it could be the way she spoke. There was a flavor there that the Corsair captain couldn't quite fully connect with Dol Amroth. She said all the right things, but her manner of speech, her dialect, was different from what he remembered the Swan Lords had. There was something with more power, more resistance. There was a certain defiance in the young girl. Masked, maybe, but somewhat recognizable.

Sarka snorted, and then sighed. He hadn't seen the Princess of Dol Amroth in several years. Even if she had grown into a bold young woman, there wasn't the awe-inspiring grace that spoke of the high lineage her people boasted of. They were a line of pretenders, in Sarka's mind, claiming to be descendants of Elves, that cursed race with bright and keen eyes.

The girl that now rested in the captain's cabin wasn't tall enough, not fair enough, not...intelligent enough to claim that royal lineage. Sarka hated the people of Dol Amroth. He hated Elves more, because they could see past his lies and into his dark soul. It unnerved him. There was something about the girl, however, that made her dangerous. He couldn't put his finger on it. She didn't have enough elf-blood in her veins to be Lothiriel, but there was something in her eyes. Something that seemed as if she were daring him to do his worst...daring him to harm her, as if she knew she weren't important enough for it to matter. It seemed she had no fear of him - if she did fear Sarka and his crew, she hid it extremely well.

Was she from Dol Amroth? If she was not Lothiriel, perhaps a servant? A pretender? Sarka decided to test her, and ordered that food be brought to his cabin. "I shall dine with our princess," he said, his fearsome grin spreading over his face.

Sarka unlocked his cabin and came in. The girl had been sitting on a stuffed chair, and rose at his appearance. Her long fingers were rebraiding her hair, and were nearly finished. She left the rest of it unbraided.

Sarka bowed, this time with no hint of mockery. "My lady," he said. The test began.

Silmarien inclined her head with an irritated air, as if he had interrupted her. "What is it you want of me, captain?" she asked.

"Merely to dine with you, if you would allow me," he replied, watching her like a hawk, though he masked it with a crooked smile.

She hesitated. "The vessel is thine, and I am your prisoner. Who am I to deny the captain his meal?"

"Oh come now," Sarka grinned fully. "I am not an _evil_ man."

"There would be those who would dispute that claim."

Sarka advanced to the table and drew out a chair, offering it to her to sit in. She paused, considering his offer, and then gathered up her skirts so that she could sit properly and with comfort. As Sarka drew away, he watched as she draped her belled sleeves over the arms of the chair.

_To say she is a servant would be a lie,_ he mused. _She is too practiced with her luxurious garments to be a servant._

At that, several men of his crew came in, bearing stolen food upon stolen silver, setting the table with the grace and poise of an orc.

"You keep a bountiful table, captain," Mari said disdainfully. "All taken from the poor souls who were not fortunate enough to escape, I assume."

"Food is food," he grunted, watching her as she was presented with each dish. Sarka was intrigued when she didn't reach for anything. "Is it not to your liking, princess?"

He looked closely. She was hungry. She had to be...yes, the slight longing in her eyes told Sarka that she was starving. But a resolution clouded it over.

"I will not eat a meal stolen from one who should have had it," she said defiantly.

"Suit yourself, my lady Lothiriel," he said, grinning at her ferociously. It unnerved her, he could see, but she still held her ground.

Ergot was one of the men who brought in food. Sarka glanced at him, a signal between the two. Ergot poured a goblet of wine and pulled a very small vial from within his garments. Uncorking it quietly behind the princess' chair, he poured three drops of it into the goblet and set it before her with a dirty smile.

"You must be terribly thirsty, my lady," Sarka said. "Please take at last one drink of the wine. To refresh yourself."

Ergot had just served his captain a goblet of wine. Silmarien watched as he downed a gulp, and figured the wine to be relatively safe to drink. Gingerly, she took a small drink,

Sarka smiled behind a clump of bread he was eating. Ergot smiled as well, and left, knowing his captain would prefer to be alone when he unmasked her, if she wasn't Lothiriel.

"My men treated you with respect, I hope," the Corsair captain said calmly.

"Aside from the blow to my face that I received, they treated me well," Mari replied, suddenly feeling very tired.

"And the wine? Is it to your satisfaction?"

Silmarien blinked like an owl in the daylight. She couldn't focus. Her eyesight was becoming blurred. Had she been awake too long? Mari stood, not knowing and quite frankly, did not care that she nearly knocked over her chair.

"I think it best that you leave, captain," she said in little more than a whisper as her hand passed over her eyes.

Sarka stood immediately and rushed toward her. Ergot had obviously used one of the more powerful narcotics from Harad. He hoped that it would suit his purpose.

Silmarien fell into his arms, unaware of anything around her anymore. Her eyelids drooped heavily as she began to mutter nonsense. Sarka listened close, in case she let slip anything which concerned who she was.

He carried her over to the bed and threw her upon it like a rag doll. He climbed over her, his knees on either side of her hips. Sarka watched her face, and hissed commands at her as if she could obey them, or even hear his voice.

She cried out every now and again. Sharp, but not loud enough to cause alarm to his crew.

"Run, Lothiriel!"

Sarka gripped her waist, squeezing hard enough to cause pain and leave marks. She felt it and cried out again, this time calling for someone whom Sarka knew did not live within Dol Amroth.

"_Boromir_!"

An evil light sprang into his eyes. So, who was she? Growing frustrated, he dug his fingers further into her side. "Who are you, woman!"

She seemed to her his angry hiss and amazingly, complied to his demand.

"Greetings, I am Silmarien. My father is Steward."

Steward! The Steward of Gondor! Her brothers were Boromir and Faramir, captains of his enemy soldiers!

"Clever girl, that you deceive me!" Sarka growled. He would take revenge on her body as she lay senseless beneath him.

Nearly tearing her hem, he pulled it up and began to unbuckle his belt. Should she live to marry, her husband would be disappointed.

"Captain! Boat sighted at the coast!"

Sarka's head snapped toward the door, from whence the voice of his first mate came, along with urgent poundings on the wood. His gaze shifted from the door to Silmarien and back. Growling in anger, he buckled his belt back.

"You are fortunate," he muttered hatefully. "But you are not free yet!"

With that, he left her to receive the gold that was surely coming to him.

-----

Review, please!


	10. Rescue from Death

**Chapter Summary:** No gold? Out swords, then! Barahir and the Swan Knights take on the Corsair crew. Will Mari be able to survive the battle?

**Author notes:** I would like to extend my deepest apologies to all my readers for the long period of time between my updates. I have been going through some trouble with my family as well as school. On top of that, I'm in a financial crisis, and will soon be getting a part-time job (I hope). Christmas break is here, thank God. Glorfindel, my muse, has been good to me, and so he helped me with papers for school before he helped me with this story. I sincerely hope that you will find this chapter to your satisfaction.

**Shout outs:**

Terreis – Yes, I'm an edgy sort of girl. Mari will be saved, and she'll even help a bit!

Mercury Gray – Yes, Barahir will come and save his cousin, and when the moment is right, he'll ask for his reward…

Mariette – Dear me, have you gone mad? Poor girl…

Roisin Dubh – That's why the only problem I have with POTC is that they make pirates out to be funny, friendly characters. They aren't. Blackbeard wasn't a guy to laugh at. He killed people, and didn't think much of it.

Lassy – Who said anything about this being the last chapter?

Shin-chan – EE! _We_ win!

Shallindra – Boromir and Faramir are back at home with Pops...I mean…Denethor. They'll have something to say about this episode.

-----

Sarka stood on deck, watching the boat come closer. It bore several men, one of them more lordly than the others. It was the young Swan lord Barahir, he presumed. What displeased him most was that there was no sign of a chest anywhere on the boat.

_Maybe they had left it in a safe place on shore_, Sarka hoped darkly.

When the young man had reached the ship and come aboard, Sarka was still unhappy about the absence of the chest. It seemed Barahir's mood was just as dark. The Corsair captain looked back on shore. A young dog sat upon the beach, its ears erect, its bearing regal. It was perhaps a hunting dog of the house of Imarhil. Turning back to the young man, he smirked and bowed.

"I assume, my lord, that you have come to parley for the life of the young maid we hold captive," he began, starting the meeting with insolence.

With barely veiled contempt and impatience, Barahir answered, "Where is she?"

"She is within my quarters," Sarka smiled calmly. "We were dining together when my men sighted your coming."

The son of Imrahil glared at him, seemingly to test his eyes for any lies. Sarka's eyes shifted. The keen glitter in the young prince's eyes reminded him too much that he was a descendant of Elves, his equal enemy.

Barahir saw what he did not wish to see. He feared the possibility of what had truly happened in the captain's cabin.

"Take me to her," he commanded.

"You shall see her in a moment," the Corsair replied. "But first, I believe you were told to bring gold with you. I should like to know where it is."

"Compliments of the lords of Dol Amroth."

Prince Barahir drew his hunting knife and threw it to the deck of the ship, imbedding it into the salted wood. Sarka stared at the weapon a moment, letting the meaning sink into his mind before glaring at his opponent.

"We do not reward kidnappers with gold, nor do we congratulate thieves. If you desire to live, you will deliver Lady Silmarien to us immediately."

Sarka's eyes narrowed to dangerously glittering slits. Turning to Ergot, who stood at his side, he whispered a command. His first mate nodded and went to the captain's cabin, unlocking it and going inside. The Corsair captain smiled.

"He shall return with your lady," he replied.

Ergot closed the door behind him, his eyes immediately searching out the prisoner. His lips curled into a smile when he saw her sitting on the bed, rubbing her eyes. Ergot took note that the hem of her skirt was thrown up to her knees and smirked.

_"Didn't take him long to figure what he wanted,_" he thought, moving toward her. The narcotic he had given her had not been enough to knock her out for a very long period of time, and she was swiftly regaining her wits. He had to act quickly, if he were to carry out his captain's command.

She had caught his movement, however, and though she was not completely restored to her senses, she stumbled away. "Who are you," she demanded. "Where am I?"

"Be silent," he sneered, drawing the knife from his belt. "You are going to die."

Her hand passed over her face, and her eyes focused. Her body was slow to respond to everything she asked of it, and so her retreat from his approach was weak. Her feet lead her away from him, setting the still-laden table between them.

Ergot growled. "You make this more difficult than it truly needs to be," he hissed. The knife left his hand, hurtling toward her.

Silmarien reached for her still empty platter and held it up, in a weak defense against his attack. The blade of the knife pierced the hammered metal to the hilt. The sight of the glittering steel helped to clear her mind and rid Silmarien of the rest of the narcotic's effects. Her eyes were wide with the shock of what had just happened as she gasped, realizing that she had just narrowly escaped death.

Lowering the platter, Mari saw the pirate coming at her, having climbed atop the table, lunging toward her. Not remembering that she knew not how to use the weapon, she pulled the knife out of the damaged platter and held it ready, screaming just as he leaped toward her to cover her mouth. Silmarien found herself on her back, with the pirate pinning her to the floor, his one hand covering her mouth, clutching her cheeks, his other hand cupping the back of her head.

Mari's eyes opened after the initial pain of landing on the hardened wood and looked into Ergot's eyes. She saw pain, shock, anger, confusion, defeat. They both looked down to his chest, where the knife was embedded. Silmarien had peirced his flesh with the weapon he had meant to kill her with. Yet, Ergot still had strength to harm her, and began to twist her neck into an unnatural position in an attempt to break it.

Silmarien whimpered in fear and pain and pulled the knife out of his chest only to replace it twice more. Blood dribbled from his lips and stained her gown. Gradually his frame went limp as life quickly left his form. Ergot died atop her.

Catching her breath, Silmarien called upon all her strength to move the body off of her. The corpse rolled away and the daughter of Denethor suddenly heard the clashings of swords. A familiar shout made her heart leap with joy.

Scrambling to her feet, Silmarien ran to the door and opened it only to be nearly knocked back by a pirate who had been thrown back by a warrior. Shaking her head from the collision, she suddenly felt a pair of arms around her waist, lifting her off her feet. Crying out in fear, she turned to see that it was a Swan Knight who held her.

"My lady! I have been commanded to take you to safety," the warrior said.

With that, he swept her to the boat that they had used in coming to the Corsair ship, weaving between the fighting and joined by a few other knights. Together, they made a hedge about Silmarien, shielding her from every side as they helped her into the boat.

Mari sat in the boat as it launched away from the ship, and couldn't help but look back and wonder what would happen to the remaining Swan Knights. Had her uncle found Lothiriel When they got to shore, she still looked back. A sharp yelp made her jump a little.

"Ranger! You helped them find me!" Silmarien cried out as she embraced the young pup, who attempted to bathe her face in wet, slobbering kisses.

There was a shout further down the beach. A party of six pirates who had been in search of food drew their swords, quickly advancing upon the four Swan Knights.

Ranger immediately tensed, barking viciously at the coming enemy as if to tell them, "You'll not take her from me again!"

The pup ran toward the foremost pirate, leaping toward his neck and clamping on with all his might. The man died a mere few moments later, his neck crushed. Ranger immediately rushed over to his mistress to see to it that she was not captured or harmed while the men fought.

Mari simply sat in shock. She had already been attacked and had killed a pirate, somehow escaped a battle on the ship and was now witnessing whata terrible thing warriors participated in. Her body was simply running on adrenaline. She had not had sleep for an entire night and had been roughly treated.

A knight of Dol Amroth ran his sword through a pirate, who fell near here. His eyes were going dark, and the terrible gashes across his chest and face made her convulse. Backing away from the corpse, Mari turned and retched before she fell into unconciousness. Ranger still stood guard over his mistress and saw the Swan Knights' victory over the pirates.

-----

Review!


	11. Back in the City

**Chapter Summary:** The return to the City of Swans, and an intimate moment between cousins.

**Author notes:** I'm sorry about my lack of updates, everyone. Life has been hectic and I almost have no time to write for fun anymore. I write for school so much it's not even funny.

**Shout outs:**

Terreis – Sarka will get what's comin' to him. And yes, Ranger is a very good dog. Oh, Glorfindel, Terreis says hi!

Glorfindel (with great exuberance, spilling ink everywhere): _Hi Terreis!_

Angoliel: Oh, by the by, Terreis...what exactly does 'spooty' mean?

Mercury Gray – That's so very interesting that you're a "bloodophob", considering you had Rhoswen kill an orc…and yes, it's shocking that I didn't even ask you for help!

Roisin Dubh – I'm doing a lot better than I was. Thank you. This chapter will contain a little about Sarka. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it.

Lintucuiel – Thank you for your praise!

Plasmolysed Cell Membrane - You have a very interesting pen name, I must say. I am glad that you enjoy my work. I am continuing it as best I can.

* * *

Despite the victory of the Swan Lords, and the burning of the pirate ship, two noble knights of the court fell that day. Both were covered by their blankets and carried by their steeds for the last time. The journey back to Dol Amroth was a solemn one. 

Silmarien shared a horse with her cousin Barahir, who sat behind her, guided the stallion with one hand, and held her gently by the waist with the other. She slept for a good amount of their return, and was oblivious to the frequent musings of her protector as he gazed at her.

Sarka had been spared, or rather denied, the right to die with the rest of his crew during the battle, or even to be burned with his ship. His hands were bound as he walked between two knights who watched him like hawks. He sneered at them, and their captain who seemed to have his heart stolen away by a girl who was as troublesome as she was young.

When they finally returned to the city, Silmarien was helped down from the horse and almost instantly attacked by Lothiriel who had been restless and nervous in her absence. Embraces, kisses, and tears were shared until Imrahil pulled the cousins apart.

"Come daughter, your cousin is wearied and in need of rest. Let her go to her chambers and sleep. There is much to speak of, and things to be done."

Over the course of the next few days, Silmarien was given gracious care and was closely guarded. During Sarka's questioning, Imrahil called his niece to him several times, asking her to clarify or correct anything that the pirate told him. Letters were sent to Minas Tirith with the account of Silmarien's abduction and rescue, as well.

* * *

Denethor sat upon the Steward's Chair, having called his sons to him. His hand held a letter limply, his face contorted in several progressions of anger, fear, worry and resolution. 

"Father, what troubles you so," Faramir asked quietly. Boromir had just entered the hall, and stood quietly before his lord and father with his hands clasped behind his back.

Denethor began to read the letter he had received half an hour ago from his kinsman, Imrahil of Dol Amroth.

_It brings my heart much pain to speak of this, my lord Denethor, but the news shall not remain undisclosed to you. On the very early morn of Thursday last, an attempt to kidnap my daughter Lothiriel was made by a band of Corsairs who desired to ransom her. Because they did not know my daughter by her face, they took both Lothiriel and her kinswoman Silmarien, your daughter. In an attempt to save her cousin, Silmarien took on the farce of being my daughter, and so the Corsairs released the true Lothiriel into the wild to return to the City of Dol Amroth as best she could. Silmarien was taken to their ship and held captive for a short while as I and my son Barahir followed the trail. I could not continue the chase to the bay, however, for upon finding my daughter I discovered she was very weak and weary. Barahir rode on with twenty of Dol Amroth's finest knights and defeated the Corsairs, bringing Silmarien home with him. _

_Your daughter is well, my lord, but I felt it would be best that she return to that which she loves and is familiar with. If you desire it, my lord, I shall escort her back to the city of Minas Tirith. I only hesitate so that I may hear your heart's wish._

_Ever your servant,_

_Imrahil_

The brothers were agape at this news, and neither of them spoke for a very long while. Denethor took this time to refold the letter into its form as it was given to him.

"What is your command, Father," Boromir finally asked when he found his voice. "If it please you, I shall take a band of thirty men and escort my sister to our city."

"Yes, that was my most frequent thought. Go, Boromir and return with the most favored jewel of the White City's coffers with much haste as you can. You, Faramir will set up a watch, and alert me as soon as you see them on the horizon," Denethor commanded. He would not allow his daughter to remain in such a place any longer. Not after what she had just been afflicted with.

* * *

Silmarien stood on her balcony looking out across the waves that crashed upon the tall rock the city was built upon. The sun was setting, and oh, what a beautiful glow it cast upon everything it touched. She had been brushing her hair, and was now running the horsehair brush through her locks very absentmindedly. The Gondorian lady did not hear her guest until he was very close to her. 

"Mari," he softly spoke, having waited as long as he could. She looked so peaceful, standing there, and Barahir had been loath to break the moment's magic. The fiery golden light cast by the descending sun kissed her cream gown. Silmarien looked more beautiful to him in that moment than any other memory that had been, or would be, save one occasion.

"Barahir," she smiled, turning to him. "I did not hear you enter."

"I hope I am not disturbing you," he began anxiously.

"No, of course not," Silmarien said, going to her vanity to tie her hair back for dinner. She waved at a chair nearby. "Please, sit."

Barahir nearly jumped at the chance. His heart was fluttering violently, and he wondered if she could hear it as he took his seat. He watched as she experimented with different colors of ribbons, and then different shapes of combs to pull her hair back. He sighed, and then berated himself. She was so beautiful, and so brave! Her strength of heart amazed him. She had told him everything she knew about her capture and his regard for her had increased greatly.

"Mari," he finally said, his voice shaky with nervousness. She didn't turn to him until he didn't speak further.

"What is it, cousin?" Silmarien asked gently, giving him her fullest attention.

"My father does not know of this, Silmarien. I beg that you keep my confidence," Barahir began, standing and going to the balcony. He didn't want her to see his face, for he was known to be very open and easy to read.

"I realize this…isn't exactly propriety. But I feel that if I wait any longer, I shall never be able to tell you. The time for your coming of age is drawing ever nearer, and I must confess that…I…well…"

Silmarien sat silently and waited for him to continue. Butterflies took wing in the pit of her stomach. What would he say? Why did he speak of the coming festival of her birth?

"You have become a beautiful woman, Silmarien. It is in my heart, that is…if you desire it, to…to seek your hand," Barahir's speech became faster near the end. He was afraid he would bore her to death, and so he let it all out at the last instant.

Silence flowed between the cousins like a dense fog. Barahir lowered his head and closed his eyes, waiting for her refusal. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt her soft touch on his arm.

"Barahir," Silmarien smiled gently. "I am flattered by the romantic affection you feel for me. But remember that I am yet young, cousin! I do not feel that such a weighty matter as love should be thrust upon me as of yet. I do not yet think I have learned enough to know if I should be the most suitable lady for you. Give me time to learn the duties a woman of my station should have, and perhaps I shall then be worthy."

His bearing deflated visibly, and her hand went to his cheek to cup it. "Have hope, Barahir. All is not lost for you. Ask me again in five years," she smiled. "Or better yet, come and visit every year, so that you may monitor my progress as I endeavor to learn even more."

* * *

Review, please! 


	12. Lessons Learned

**Chapter Summary: **Silmarien goes home and shares some moments with Denethor before her birthday feast, where she will be presented as a lady of the court, a woman.

**Author Notes: **Well here it is, the last chapter of _What It Takes to Be a Lady_. I hope that my faithful readers enjoyed it immensely. The next tale in Silmarien's life that I will write about will be titled "War of Desires". Feel free to let you imagination run wild on that one!

**Shout Outs:**

Lady Glory – Glad you enjoyed it!

Mercury Gray – You and your silly plays.

Roisin Dubh – The dense fog was the product of my speaking with Mercury Gray on another topic. I liked it, so I used it here, as well and simply embellished it. And when Boromir says, "my sister" he was speaking of himself. He was planning to go alone, and didn't want to enlist his brother's help unless it was offered. Don't over think things, it's not good for you.

Jousting Elf with a Sabre – Thank you for your encouragement!

Terreis – Glorfindel shall not be forgotten, don't worry. And Sarka was executed along with the other crew member who didn't escape with the others when they kidnapped Lothiriel. I just didn't think I should write about it because I have a tendancy to be pretty detailed and I have a bloodophobic reader.

Silmarien stood in the stone passageway, waiting for her father to escort her into the feasting hall. It had been a month since she had returned to her city, and preparations had swiftly been made for the celebration of the anniversary of her birth. She had spent much of the time for gown fittings, choosing the hues of silk and velvet she would wear and astounding her maids by exhibiting great patience and quiet. When she wasn't being fitted, she sat in the garden and played the lyre, much to the courtiers' great delight and the amusement of her brothers.

"I see your hands have been put to good use," Boromir would often joke when he found her so. "At last, you are sitting still!"

"Laugh all you like, Boromir," Silmarien would say in reply. "Though I am quiet and manageable as a lady should be, I could suddenly disobey and pounce upon you like a lioness. Forget not my tale that I brought home."

It was well known in the city, Silmarien's adventure with the Corsairs. Every gossip-loving woman would chatter about it over the washing of laundry or between purchases in the market. Young girls were exhorted to grow up and be stout-hearted like the Lady Silmarien, and boys began to invite playmates of the other sex to join them as they played Knights and Pirates. But the true story had been stretched, hailing Silmarien as a greater fighter than she truly was. It was said that she did not escape the ship with an escort, but stayed to fight alongside her cousin Barahir, and slew a great amount of enemies.

The Steward, his family and a few of the most trusted courtiers knew the truth however. They had heard the tale from Silmarien's own lips, and took her at her word. Denethor was proud of his daughter, and yet embraced her closely when he laid eyes upon her when she returned. She was too much of his treasure for him to be foolish with.

Silmarien sighed and leaned against the stone wall, careful to stand in such a way as to not wrinkle her gown. Since she had returned home, she had put away the fashion of Dol Amroth, with all their laces and corsets. She had also gained a few pounds, having rediscovered her love for Gondorian cuisine. The silvery gown she wore now was comfortable and fashionable at the same time – Mari's most favorite combination.

"Well, I suppose I can't call you my little one anymore," Denethor smiled, reaching for her hands to clasp. "You have quite grown up, my Mari."

"I'll always be your little one, Father," she smiled. "But I don't think I'll allow anyone else to say it."

The Steward laughed with his daughter as he embraced her close, and then he sighed. "You went to your mother's city a mere girl, and returned as a woman. You are truly a lady."

Silmarien became silent and thoughtful for a time. "I think that I have always been so, Father. I have come from a long line of queenly women. It merely slept within me, alongside my courage, waiting for the right time to rise. It had to be shaken to wakefulness for just the right purpose."

"What meanest thou, daughter?" Denethor ask, delighting that she had learned her strength and was mature enough to recognise it.

"I mean that it does not take silvery gowns and golden circlets to make a true lady. A lady is gentle and kind and strong and compassionate. Even a woman who lives on the first circle of the city might be a lady. And at times, a woman of the court is given the title she does not deserve. But I am thankful that I am one, for then I shall be able to continue in Mother's footsteps, take up her mantle where she left it. And then, when I grow old, I shall put the mantle over my own daughter's shoulders one day."

"Blessed be my daughter, for she is a queen though she bear not the title," Denethor praised. "Now I can present you to court with overflowing pride. You have earned your right, and will keep it to the end of your days."

With that, they entered the feasting hall together, and celebrated the coming of age of the daughter of Finduilas the Fair, who, though she was not able to teach her daughter the grace and nobility she learned, oversaw the tutelage and smiled from Manwe's Halls.

_**The End**_


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